In a High, High Tower
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint, and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and demons. Their blood can be used for many things. More importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley, one year usage of her and and her powers with no arguments...
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Hints of torture, sexual situations, light torture depicted… more might be added later depending on how dark I want to take this

**Full Summary: **AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint… and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and to demons. Saints can hear the angels speak, their blood can be used for many things, and they have a sight for things that normal humans do not. And, more importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley—one year of usage of her saintly powers with no arguments, and no interferences.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. They belong to Kripke. No money made here.

**Author's Notes:** Just a couple of things here right off the bat. First off, I will have multiple points of view. However, for the majority of the fic, it will be through Daphne's eyes. Also, I did a Hard R-rated fic that had a similar setting to this one… what can I say? I just love this setting. But I'll be spanning this one's view out a little bit more. Also, I know this chapter is a bit long… but I had to cover the flashback. I know that it could've been a story in and of itself, but I feel that the rest of this story is the more interesting bit. And the rating may rise in later chapters. Also, Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands has done some art for this. You'll be able to see it as I post this at Livejournal as well at (remove spaces) patriciatepes. Livejournal. com

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**In a High, High Tower**

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**Chapter One**

_**Now**_

Daphne Allen sat back in the driver's seat of her car and sighed. She closed her eyes against the rising sun—which was busy staining her otherwise white house red. She ran a hand through her curly, chestnut red hair and sighed once more good measure. Another day, another dollar, as the saying went… but these overnight shifts were out to kill her. She reached over into the passenger seat and grabbed the single, white-and-blue plastic bag that she found there. Thank God Wal-Mart was twenty-four hours. She yanked the bag over into her lap and exited her vehicle, aiming straight for the small front porch of her home.

Her whole body ached, like she had just finished running a marathon. Who would've thought the graveyard shift at a hospital lab would be so tiring? But it was all worth it. If it kept her family fed, happy, and safe, then that was fine by her. A handful of years spent being tired from running… it was nice to be tired because of something else for a change.

She hauled her feet up the stairs, moaning softly as she did. Using her free hand, she fumbled in her scrubs' pants' pocket for her house keys. Laura and Elle would still be asleep, so she would try to keep her noise to a minimum. Daphne had no sooner stuffed the silver key into the lock as the sound of something heavy falling to the ground took place behind her.

She whirled, her eyes wide. A dark haired woman, dressed in jeans, a rock t-shirt, and a purple leather jacket, was crumpled just before the steps of her home. The woman's loose curls were matted, and she parted her cherry lips—which still looked cracked and parched despite the lipstick… or, at least, Daphne _hoped_ that was lipstick. To see this woman injured shook Daphne to her core… because she had met her before… and she knew who—what—she was.

"Meg?" Daphne asked.

This seemed to finally force the demon to speak. Her eyes found Daphne's, and the intensity of that gaze did nothing to calm the woman on the porch.

"Run," Meg groaned. "Crowley's coming for you."

##

_**Then**_

Daphne was a patient woman. A faithful woman could be no other way. So when her Emmanuel had left with Dean Winchester, she had done the same she had done every time before. She did her nightly prayers, wanting nothing but her beloved's safety. But… something was wrong. Emmanuel did not come home.

This had sent Daphne reeling. It was a good two days after this realization—this knowledge that her husband was missing—before she could even muster the concept of trying to find him. She had no idea where to start. She had called her sister, Laura, in efforts of trying to share her grief. And Laura—the one who, despite being a witness to Emmanuel's miracles, had always been against him being so open with his powers—had tried her best to calm her sister. She had suggested that perhaps Daphne put out flyers, or post something online. But, even then, Daphne had a bad feeling the very pit of her stomach. She feared she would never see him again.

And then, someone arrived to tell her as much.

The woman had just been sitting in her living room one day when Daphne had arrived home from work. She had feared that this mysterious stranger to be another demon, but the woman had smiled and stood. She held up a single hand, trying her best to keep her movements slow and nonthreatening. Her coppery brown hair was swept back and pulled into a very business-like bun at the nape of her neck. She was dressed in a gray, ladies' suit with a white button-up underneath it.

"My name is Naomi, Daphne," she said before gesturing to the recliner adjacent to the couch that she sat upon. "Won't you sit down? We have much to discuss."

But Daphne had been rooted to her spot, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. Naomi finally sighed.

"I am an angel of the lord," she said. "And I've come to speak with you about… about the man you call Emmanuel."

That had Daphne's attention. She took a few steps closer—angels were good, after all—but still stopped short of taking the proffered seat.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Daphne asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Despite the brightness of the afternoon outside, the light inside the living room dimmed. A clap of thunder sounded, and large, shadowed wings threw themselves upon the floor, walls, and ceiling. Daphne all but collapsed into the chair.

"An angel?" she asked breathlessly as Naomi retook her seat on the couch.

"Yes. And we have much to discuss. Some of it will be difficult for you to hear, but you must," she said. Here, she paused, placing an almost matronly gaze upon Daphne before she added, "You're a very special woman. The only one alive of your kind."

Daphne shook her head. "You said that… you said that you knew something of my husband?"

"He's not your husband, Daphne. Not anymore. Consider that dissolved," Naomi said.

Daphne's heart thudded against her chest. She took a deep breath.

"No. I mean… I know that he was lost… that he-he doesn't know who he was. But he loves me, and I love him. He _is_ my husband."

"Was. And yes, he did love you. More than he's ever loved a human. More than any angel has loved a human in quite some time. Which is why you are such a special creature, Daphne."

"Angel?" she squeaked. "Emmanuel's… he's an _angel_? Like you?"

Naomi nodded. "Yes. And his name is Castiel."

Castiel. Daphne rolled that around in her head a moment. She had gone so long calling him Emmanuel, the name they had both chosen for him. But there was something about this name… his true name… that fit him. It came surprisingly easy for her to replace "Emmanuel" with "Castiel."

"Why do you keep calling me a creature?" Daphne finally asked.

"Ah," Naomi said, patting her knees once with her hands. "The matter at hand. As I've said, Castiel loved you. He probably—some part—loves you still, even though he has regained his memories. He loved you the moment you showed him kindness, despite the state you found him in… and he loved you the first night you took him to your bed."

A deep, crimson blush flooded Daphne's features. She shook her head once more.

"That's none of your business," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

"But it is. You see, angels—well, the more unruly of our kind—copulate quite often. But not Castiel. He was not like those. And because of that… well, he's left you with quite a gift."

At this, Daphne arched a brow, but she did not speak. Naomi had rather a pleased look on her face. Neither said anything for a moment, but finally, the angel in the room huffed out a small, mirthless laugh.

"You're a saint, Daphne."

If Daphne was confused before—if she had had any questions—then this was something altogether different. She narrowed her eyes at Naomi.

"But… that's not possible. I thought… I thought saints were a Catholic thing. That someone had to be canonized after performing a certain number of miracles or something…?"

At this, Naomi's look went sour. She pursed her lips.

"No," she said rather forcefully. "A saint is not something that _man_ can make. A saint is one who has had a… ahem, _close_ encounter with the divine where love was involved. I guess you could say that Castiel… rubbed off on you."

"I'm sorry?" Daphne gasped.

"A saint has certain… qualities. Especially in their blood. It can be used for many things. Many wonderful, wonderful things."

Now Daphne jumped to her feet, her hand rising to her chest. "You want my blood? Are you… are you going to _kill_ me?"

"Why would I do that? If I kill you, then your blood becomes limited. Again, as I said earlier, you are a very rare thing indeed."

Daphne backed away, and this pulled Naomi to her feet. This was too much. Emmanuel—Castiel—was an angel? She was a saint? Her breathing was growing heavy, panicked.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Where is Castiel?"

"He's… indisposed, at the moment. But he's alive and safe. I thought you would be happy to know that."

Daphne nodded, her eyes not meeting Naomi's. "Thank you. Thank you for coming to tell me that. But, if you'll please… please leave. Now."

"I can't do that. I'm not finished."

A tear rolled down Daphne's cheek. "Why? What do you want from me?"

Her husband was gone—the man that God had sent to her. Now she was something that she didn't fully comprehend? She was alone in the house with an angel she couldn't get to leave—an angel that spoke of her blood… fear seized her.

"We need you to work for us," Naomi said. "Calm yourself. It will be simple."

"What do you mean?"

"An angel—one of my kind, of Castiel's kind—will come to you. You will go with them and perform whatever task needed of you. It's a divine calling, Ms. Allen. I would've thought such a devout woman would be happy to receive such a mission. You'll be serving _Heaven_."

That did sound a bit better. Daphne willed her breathing to slow back to a normal pace. She gulped in a few breaths, finally forcing herself to meet Naomi's eyes.

"What kind of missions will I be doing?" she asked.

"That will be revealed to you as you receive them. But you will do them."

Daphne simply stood there. Naomi smiled.

"Welcome to the cause, Daphne. We'll be in touch."

With that and the sound of fluttering wings, Naomi vanished. Daphne blinked once… twice. Finally, to the empty room, she repeated Naomi's point:

"I'll be serving Heaven."

And she was quick to learn just how terrible those words were. Angels—she had been taught—were loving, compassionate creatures who only wished to do God's will in Heaven and on Earth. But the angels that Daphne met? They were nothing like that. Some of them—too many of them—were much too human like, petty and devious. In fact, they almost reminded her of the demons that had attacked her looking for Emmanuel—Castiel. And there was no more word of Castiel. No, instead, an angel would arrive, whisk her away, and command her to give her blood to some cause or another. Some were good… some Daphne could return home proud of. But some… some were too… self-serving.

And she was not to ask questions. She learned this when she asked if her blood could free some poor soul that was being possessed by a demon. One would have thought that she had spouted the foulest blasphemy. When her blood had been taken next, it had hurt—torn from her by the cut of a dagger with no warning. Something was wrong. The angels… they cared nothing for her or her life. Or the danger they placed her in. Sure, she knew that the angels were meant to protect her as she performed these tasks… but she had overheard them. She knew that there were things that could kill them—many things.

One month. She served "Heaven" for one, long month. And then, it was all different. She felt sick, not herself. Her body was irregular, and something told her it had nothing to do with the loss of blood. Her brain told her that it was impossible, that Castiel had been an angel… but she had taken the test anyway. Two solid, blue lines. Positive. She was pregnant. And that cinched it. She had to get away from the angels.

So, in whatever free time she managed to obtain, she took to the internet. She looked—as discreetly as one could be online—for some way, any way, to be free of them. And then she had found it. Symbols, sigils. Enochian, they claimed to be—the language of the angels. But they would hide her and anyone she needed to hide with her.

It took some convincing to get Laura to follow along, reluctant to leave her life. But Daphne had explained that it could not be risked. That the angels would come for her if Daphne vanished. They had to go as one, or not at all. Eventually, her little sister agreed. It had been the existence of her unborn child that had cemented it.

"Laura," she had pleaded, "if they are this careless with me… what do you think they would do with…?"

She gestured to her stomach. And, after marking down the sigils on their best working vehicle, they ran. They ran far away, going from Colorado all the way to the east in a rural, North Carolina town. They bought the first place they could afford, tattooed the Enochian on their bodies in small but readable script—Laura on her right leg, and Daphne on her left shoulder. And, for several months, Daphne saw neither hide nor hair of angels. The sigils had worked, and she could be herself—and raise her child—in peace.

She was five months into her pregnancy and showing when she had had the dream. Castiel was searching for her—longed to know if she was safe. And Daphne missed her husband. She spoke of her location in the dream, and took the next day off of work. As it turned out, this was the wisest call. Her doorbell rang at precisely noon, and she had rushed to it, expecting Castiel—her husband—to be on the other side. He was… but not by himself.

"So, this is the missus? Not bad, Clarence," the dark-haired woman beside him grinned. "A little plain, but that figures."

Castiel smiled, a rather dopey look on his face. "Don't mind Meg. This is just her way. May we enter?"

But there was something… off. Castiel did not seem himself. She knew it was illogical, as the man she had known had not even known what he truly was. But there was something… loose about him. Emmanuel had always been stiff, unsure of the human experience. This Castiel before her was smiling and joyous. Daphne stepped in the doorway, pulling the door close to her body.

"What is she?" Daphne asked.

Meg rolled her eyes. "I'm a demon. But don't worry—" she held up two fingers, "—I'm on my best behavior. Promise."

"A demon?" Daphne gasped, glaring at Castiel. "You brought a demon to my _house_? After what happened the last time we spoke?"

The smile vanished, and he looked properly ashamed. He nodded and put his back to her.

"You're right. We should leave."

"Wait!" Meg called before Castiel could vanish. She turned to Daphne, leaning in to whisper, "Can we talk? Girl to girl?"

"Right here we can," Daphne snipped.

Meg sighed, turning to Castiel. "Cas, buddy. Why don't you take a seat at the foot of the stairs real quick, okay?"

He nodded and did as requested. Daphne narrowed her eyes. Meg turned back to her.

"As you can see, Missus Angel, he's not quite himself. Not even for Castiel. He's kind of… crazy."

"Crazy?" Daphne repeated.

Meg nodded. "As in loco, screw loose, few marbles gone… and he's feeling a good amount of guilt. So you might wanna take it easy on him."

"What do you care? You're a demon," Daphne noted.

Meg shrugged. "Normally, I wouldn't. But you see, angel-wings there is the only way I've got to keep my ass safe from the current King of Hell… a rather nasty demon by the name of Crowley. He—and his Winchester buddies—are also my only hope of killing that smarmy dick. So, I'm playing nice with my new _friends_."

Daphne leaned around Meg, her eyes falling on the slumped, trenchcoat-covered shoulders of Castiel. Even from behind he looked just so… depressed. Daphne rolled her eyes. She stepped back from the door, opening it wide.

"Come on in," she said as Castiel stood, the smile back on his face.

But Meg's brow rose into her hair as her dark eyes fell down to Daphne's midsection.

"Haven't been too lonely, have we, dear?" she asked.

Instinctually, Daphne's hand fell to her ever-swelling stomach. Her lips pursed as a frown appeared on Castiel's face. But the angel quickly wiped it away.

"I understand," he said, albeit glumly. "You deserve happiness. Is the father here?"

He thought she had been unfaithful? Her heart broke. She led Castiel and Meg into the living room, shaking her head. Her mouth opened to reply, to speak the truth, but she stopped. Meg was right. Daphne could see it in his eyes. Castiel was not… himself. And Meg herself was a demon. Now was not a time for truth. So, as much as it pained her, she sighed.

"No. He's… not in the picture. A stupid mistake," Daphne said as she took a seat on the sofa.

Castiel and Meg took a seat on the loveseat across from her, and Meg winked.

"The truth of many one-night stands, I find," she drawled.

Castiel was frowning again, and Daphne wasn't sure how much more breaking her heart could take. She shook her head, and despite herself, reached out across the small distance to rest a hand on the angel's knee.

"There's so much I have to tell you… and I'm sure you have a lot to tell me. You're an angel… another angel came and told me that. Tell me what happened… before you met me, after… please."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but he finally nodded. He started with the taking of his vessel—a man named Jimmy Novak—and went from there. He told her of Sam and Dean Winchester, of fighting the Apocalypse, and of what had happened when the Apocalypse did not come to pass. How he had started a civil war in Heaven, in efforts of making sure that the archangel Raphael did not try to end the world again. And to do so, he went in search for the souls of Purgatory by allying himself with the King of Hell, Crowley. He told her of Leviathan, of dying, and of how she had found him. And then he told her of regaining his memories and taking the wall in Sam's head—which he had broken—into himself.

"It was a great struggle," Castiel noted with a sigh. "It took a long meditation. But I am at peace, and I see this miraculous world in a whole new light. So many wondrous things take place on Earth every day… have you ever considered bees, Daphne?"

At this, Meg groaned and placed a tight hand on Castiel's shoulder. The move made Daphne shift in her seat, but the demon only grinned—something else that seemed unnaturally tight.

"Maybe you ought to let Daphne tell you her news, hm? Like why she's hiding from angels?"

Castiel nodded, and Daphne began. She told him about how an angel had come to her shortly after his disappearance, and told her that she was a saint.

"That's a great honor for you," Castiel interrupted. "Saints can do much good for their kind. True saints, that is."

But Daphne shook her head. "They had me doing terrible things, Castiel. Killing. Killing even other angels. I couldn't do it. I ran."

She left out the part about discovering when she was pregnant. That would be a giveaway. It would be too soon after his disappearance, which meant that he would either discover that the child was his… or he would further think on Daphne's supposed betrayal. She couldn't bear either.

Castiel nodded sagely. "Angels are… unused to the ideas of free will. Hiding was a wise choice."

"Speaking of," Meg said, standing. "That's exactly what I should be doing. Let's go, Clarence."

Castiel stood and said his goodbyes, making his way to the front door without argument. However, Daphne stopped Meg before she left the living room.

"I don't understand," Daphne said incredulously. "Why does he follow you so blindly? You're a demon!"

"As you've said before, sweetheart. But I'm the one who played nursemaid when he was a drooling mess in the crazy ward. I guess he feels like he owes me. But don't worry. I'll keep him nice and safe."

Daphne knew she meant it as a quip, as innuendo… but she nodded sincerely.

"Please do."

Meg scoffed and followed Castiel out of the door. And that had been the last Daphne had seen of either of them for three and a half years. Daphne and her sister lived in quiet, which Daphne had never really viewed as "peace." The meeting with Meg and Castiel had left her uneasy, and feeling much unprepared. So, at night, she researched. She studied. She learned as much about the supernatural world as she possibly could. And, she even imagined that she stumbled across a couple of cases that Castiel's friends, the Winchesters, had been on.

Her daughter was born, beautiful and healthy. Elle, Daphne named her. And Daphne couldn't believe how fantastic being a mother made her feel—and how horrible. She worried constantly that some magical presence was going to swoop down any moment and take her beloved Elle from her. She had managed to procure a charm with the same Enochian on it that Daphne and Laura had had tattooed on their bodies. She made sure Elle wore it always, even in sleep.

Very few people were aware of Elle's existence, even after two and a half years of life… and no one knew who the real father was—save for Laura—even though her daughter's eyes were the brightest blues she had ever seen… the same blue as Castiel's.

Three and a half years of peace, and caution, and worry… and it was all crashing down…

##

_**Now**_

Daphne's grip on her groceries slackened, and the bag with all of its contents hit the porch and rolled away. She whirled in her spot, grabbed the key a little rougher than necessary, and gave it a hard twist. She shoved her way into her home and made a beeline for the stairs. Upstairs—where Elle's and Laura's bedrooms were. _Elle_…

Daphne took the stairs two at a time, using the rail to propel her body forward. She hit the second floor landing with a thud and didn't slow, her eyes on the pink, blocky letters on the door at the end of the hall that spelled her daughter's name. Her lips parted, wanting to call for her, when a pair of strong arms wrapped about her waist.

"No!" she screeched.

"The King of Hell has a deep interest in you," a gruff voice said from behind her.

In a flash, she was no longer in her home. Instead, she was in a cold, dark room made primarily out of cement. In the center of the room was a small, rectangular metal table with two matching chairs—one on either end. She turned in place, huffing as if she had run to this place—wherever it was at. She wanted to scream. To cry for help. But she knew it was useless. The King of Hell had her… and no one who could possibly save her knew where she was. In fact, _no one_, ability to save or not, knew her location now. Her eyes fell to a door behind her, and she started toward it. She lifted her hands, hesitating to touch the rusted metal, before she finally put all of her weight on it. It didn't so much as budge. She backed away from it, figuring as much.

Her attention went back to the table and she bypassed the first chair in favor of the one facing the only seeable entrance into this room. She pulled it out, the legs making an awful scraping noise. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap—the better to keep them from shaking. She glared at the door, waiting for the inevitable arrival of her captor. It seemed forever that she sat there, alone, in that room. But the longer she had to wait… the more resolved she became. Crowley would get nothing from her. Nothing at all.

Yet, her hands still shook, and finally her eyes fell to the dirty table before her. It took her a moment before she realized that her whole body trembled, and her brain began to silently scream at her to stop. She was going to be strong. She wasn't going to be afraid. No. She wasn't going to be afraid at all. She had been through too much these last few years.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Daphne's head snapped up as she took in the new arrival. He wasn't exactly what she had been expecting when she had heard about the King of Hell. Granted, all of her visions of Hell were filled with red-skinned, horned monsters with pitchforks. But this man… he just looked like a business man. He had a thin beard—more of a scruff—on his face, and his green eyes gleamed as they fell to Daphne. He was dressed in a fine black suit with a dark, charcoal gray tie. He shut the door behind him and walked to the opposite end of the table. There, he smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Daphne Allen," he said, and Daphne was just the slightest bit surprised to hear an English accent. "I've heard a lot about _you_. The name's Crowley, but I'd wager that you knew that at least."

"I won't help you," Daphne blurted out suddenly, causing Crowley to raise a brow at her. She shook her head as she added, "I won't. You can torture me, kill me, whatever. But I won't help you. You'll get no cooperation from me."

"Ah, so I'm guessing that you've surmised that I know of your status of saint and of all the little goodies that entails," Crowley grinned.

Daphne felt a heat rush to her face, and she clamped her lips tightly shut. Crowley chuckled and continued on.

"It's true, darling. I know that you are a saint, made that way by—_ahem_—being married to Castiel. I also know that you're the only currently living saint. Which is why you are just so interesting to me."

"I. Won't. Help. You."

"Yes, yes, I'd figured that you would say that. You see, I got a lot of interesting tidbits from the time I had Meg down below—I believe you know Meg, yes? She said that she figured you for the noble type."

Meg had talked about her? Crowley had tortured the information out of her? Daphne's heart began to race. Just what _did_ Crowley know about her? Her body was shaking again, and this time it seemed that there would just be no stopping it.

"Now," Crowley said, taking a seat on the opposite edge of the table, "there are these lovely tablets. The Word of God. And one of them that I happened to stumble across sometime early last year was labeled "saints," which is how I know all about your kind. Well, with the help of a very trusty Prophet of the Lord. Bottom line, kitten… I think I could do a lot with you."

"I'd rather die," Daphne said, holding her chin aloft.

Crowley grinned, clearly unfazed. "You see, based on Meg's description of you, I figured that as well. Which is why your house is currently surrounded by my black-eyed boys."

Daphne stiffened as Crowley withdrew a phone from within his jacket. He shook it once at her, still with that snake's grin on his face.

"One telephone call, and the two ladies remaining in your home die. Horribly, might I add. And we both know that Meg's run off, so you can't really trust her to help. Not that you should've been thinking that in the first place, dear."

In all honesty, she hadn't been. But now didn't really seem the time to point that out. Instead, she rose a bit out of her seat, her eyes trained on the iPhone.

"What do you want?"

"I want to make a deal, sweetheart."

"What? I-I won't… I can't sell my soul. I can't. I won't," Daphne stammered out.

Crowley rolled his eyes, standing. "Well, of course not. No, you see, I have a different deal in mind."

Daphne sunk back into her chair, her hand rising to clutch over her chest. "What kind of deal then?"

"I will kill everyone you hold dear… everyone you've _ever_ held dear. The little girl in your house, your sister… everyone," Crowley began, and when Daphne gasped, about to protest, he held up a single finger, adding, "Unless you give me one year of your time."

"What do you mean, a year of my time?" Daphne asked.

"One year using your saintly powers anyway I see fit. No questions asked. One year, and you and your loved ones go about your merry way."

At that precise moment, his phone beeped, and he flipped the screen about to face him. He smiled down at it before he allowed his eyes to trail back up to Daphne.

"She really is beautiful, the little one. Such a heavy sleeper too," he said, turning the phone about.

There, lying peacefully asleep in her bed, her little hands hugged around her favorite stuffed rabbit, was Elle. Daphne rose from her seat again, leaning across the table to stare, wide-eyed, at the picture. Crowley chuckled and turned the phone away, tucking it back inside his jacket.

"Very adorable. Who is she, by the way?" Crowley asked.

Daphne wanted to scream she was so elated. Meg hadn't told. Hadn't told Crowley that Elle was Daphne's child. Which meant that he was still that crucial step away from figuring out that Elle's father was Castiel. If she could head that off… at least that would be something.

"My niece," she all but snapped.

Crowley arched a brow. "Your niece?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes. She's my niece. Laura's… Laura's daughter."

"Ah," Crowley said. "Well… don't you want her to live a long, happy, healthy life?"

Daphne sighed. "Of course I do."

All mirth disappeared from the demon's face.

"If you refuse my rather generous deal, then I'll start by snapping the little brat's neck."

Daphne gasped, pressing her pale fingertips to her lips. The smile reappeared on his face as he added, "And I'll personally make sure that you're there to see it."

Daphne rounded the table, coming to a stop halfway in its length. Her eyes darted away, considering her options. No one knew where she was. She hadn't seen Castiel in years. And… if she called to him here… No. If Daphne had been able to learn about Enochian, then surely the King of Hell knew of it.

"One year? And I… I won't be able to see my family, will I?" she asked.

"I hardly think not. How would I be able to trust that you were doing as instructed? No, you would spend the year under my very watchful eye, far away from your family. Can't have you trying to run."

"I'll… I'll make the deal," she whispered.

"Wonderful," Crowley said, standing.

He took a single step toward her when Daphne held up a hand for him to wait.

"But… but I… we… need to work out the details."

"What details?"

His voice was positively laced with acid.

"You can't harm them. Not anyone I hold dear. Not my sister, not my… not my niece. And not anyone that may arrive to… to watch over them."

"May arrive to watch over them?" Crowley repeated.

"Yes," Daphne said, crossing her arms. "Like… like if I asked the Winchesters to watch over them. Then you couldn't harm them."

Crowley seemed to mull this over. After a moment, he nodded.

"Very well. Provided they make no heroic efforts to stop me in the course of that year."

Daphne had not even met _both_ of the Winchesters, only Dean for a very brief moment back when Castiel had still been her husband. It was a long shot, but that was the only name she had had for Crowley. Maybe, though… But one year of them not trying to stop Crowley? That was a super long shot.

"Fine. And I need an hour. An hour to make sure that my family will be all right without me. And at the end of that hour… I'll come along quietly. No arguments."

Crowley stepped even closer to Daphne, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder—preventing her from backing away.

"But I want no arguments from you, Daphne. Not once this year. You will do what I ask, when I ask it of you. And you will do nothing without my presence or permission outside of where you will be kept. And you, yourself, will not try to interrupt my plans."

Daphne nodded, trying to lean out of his grip, but it just was not happening.

"Fine. Of course. But I want that hour to be uninterrupted by you or your demons. No eyes. Nothing until the hour is up. I want that time with my family alone."

And, of course, she didn't want to run the risk of him learning Elle's true identity.

"Of course," Crowley said. "So, have we got a deal? No arguments from you?"

He leaned forward, his hand sliding up to grasp her about the back of her neck.

"I-I also want to make sure that none of these… these things you will require of me… they can't cause me p-permanent damage," she whispered as his face inched closer to hers.

"Oh, darling," he laughed. "Perish the thought. Now… if we have a deal… we _do_ have to seal it."

She nodded. And, in the next instant, his lips were pressed against hers. She gasped into his mouth as his tongue darted in for a brief second, teasing her. Her eyes were wide, staring into the darkness of the room as the King of Hell continued to kiss her roughly. Finally, he pulled away, smiling.

"One hour, kitten. Then you come to me."

With that, he snapped his fingers, and Daphne was back on the second floor landing. She gasped, turning in place. Judging by the sudden brightness of the sun, she had apparently been gone for more than just the few minutes she had thought.

"Laura!" she cried out.

Footsteps on the floor below brought Daphne back to the staircase as she stopped, staring down. Her sister—her short, blonde hair in disarray from an obvious lack of a morning brushing—stared up at her as she began to race up the stairs. She only stopped when Daphne grasped both of the younger woman's arms.

"Daphne… I… I heard you scream! And then I couldn't find you! What happened?"

"I don't have long," Daphne said. "So don't argue. Just listen."

So Daphne rushed through her explanation, carefully cutting her sister off whenever Laura dared to interrupt as she led the younger woman into the living room. She finally ended her long story with, "Where's Elle?"

"You mean Elle, who's suddenly _my_ daughter? Who's going to go a _year_ without her _real_ mother?" Laura snapped.

Daphne sighed. "I didn't have a choice! Where is she?"

But the sound of tiny footsteps on the stairs alerted Daphne as she stepped around her rather angry sister. Holding tightly to the rails, Elle was taking the stairs one tiny step at a time. She stopped on the first floor, rubbing her bright, blue eyes.

"Momma?" she asked.

"Oh, baby," Daphne said, bending to lift her daughter into her arms.

She walked over the sofa, taking a seat with her girl on her lap. Daphne stared at her for a moment, before her own words played through her mind. One hour. And she still had so much to do.

"Sweetie… I need you to listen. Mommy's… Mommy's gotta go on a trip. I'm gonna be gone for a little while."

Elle's face brightened. A trip always meant that she got to come too. It was breaking Daphne's heart, but she had to push ahead.

"No, honey. Um… Mommy's gotta go by herself. But, but it's okay. You'll be with Aunt Laura. And… and some friends."

Laura stepped farther into the room. "Friends?"

Daphne nodded, setting a very confused Elle down. She bent, giving her daughter a swift hug, before she looked back at her sister.

"It's a bit of a wild card… but I'm going to call Castiel. Stay here with her for a minute."

With a promise of being right back to Elle—Daphne still had thirty or so minutes left—she stepped out on the front porch, gently shutting the door behind her. She felt the tear on her cheek before she realized that her eyes had even gone watery. She sniffled, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands.

"Castiel," she began. "I don't know… I don't know if you even remember me. You were… you were in a weird state when last we saw one another. But, it's Daphne. I… I need your help. Please. Please, can you come right away? Please?"

She kept her eyes pressed shut. And she did not even hear a sound before a gruff voice—a voice that made a smile spread across her face—spoke her name.

"Daphne."

Her eyes flew open to see him, dressed in a suit with a white undershirt, blue tie askew, and that tan overcoat he had worn over his hospital outfit before, standing at the foot of the stairs. She all but fell down to him, hugging him tightly to her, as if she didn't believe that her prayers for him had worked.

"Castiel," she said, now openly crying.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" he said, pulling out of the embrace to stare down at her with those brilliant blues… Elle's blues.

"Something's happened," she said.

And, for the second time that night, Daphne explained her predicament, starting with Meg's arrival and ending with this moment. By the end of it all, she had only a precious ten minutes left, and she used them to grasp him tightly about the arms.

"I need you," she said.

"I'll help you," Castiel said. "I'll get Sam and Dean… we'll help you."

Daphne shook her head. "You can't… you can't come after me… or Crowley. It was part of the deal. The only thing that keeps you all safe."

"All?" Castiel asked.

Before Daphne could respond, another voice called her name. Both she and Castiel turned to see a man—a demon—with a black SUV parked at the end of Daphne's home's walkway.

"It's time to go. The King said you would not argue," he said.

Castiel moved forward, but Daphne stopped him, shaking her head. She stood on tip-toe, wrapping her arms about the angel's neck.

"We'll find a way to save you," Cas said, but even then… there was something in his voice. Like he didn't believe it himself. Like he was holding back.

"It's okay," she whispered into his ear. "Just promise me. Promise me you'll stay here with Elle. That you'll watch over her like… like she was your own."

She could feel the confusion emanating from him. "I… I promise."

"Like your own, Castiel," Daphne whispered with one final, tight hug. "Because she is. Your own."

With that, she broke free and turned. Without glancing back once—for fear of losing her resolve, for fear of losing it all—she got into the SUV and allowed it to carry her away.

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**End Notes:** Well, what did everyone think? Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings:** Hints of torture, sexual situations, light torture depicted… more might be added later depending on how dark I want to take this. Rating may rise in later chapters.

**Full Summary: **AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint… and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and to demons. Saints can hear the angels speak, their blood can be used for many things, and they have a sight for things that normal humans do not. And, more importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley—one year of usage of her saintly powers with no arguments, and no interferences.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. They belong to Kripke. No money made here.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for the great reviews! I hope to get more :wink: Here's the next chapter! Also, Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands has done some art for this. You'll be able to see it as I post this at Livejournal as well at (remove spaces) patriciatepes. Livejournal. Com

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**Chapter Two**

She wasn't really sure when it had happened, but at some point during her ride, Daphne had fallen asleep. She leaned up from where she had been against the—thankfully—locked driver's side back door. Her hand flew to her mouth and, embarrassingly, she wiped away a bit of drool there. Blinking, she narrowed her gaze out of the tinted back windows and through what she could see of the windshield from where she was. One thing was abundantly clear to her… she wasn't in North Carolina anymore. And even though she had absolutely no idea exactly how long she had slept, she was sure it hadn't been long enough to reach the desert… which was exactly where she was one.

"We're… still in the US, right?" Daphne said aloud, only half directing the question at the driving demon.

"Where we are isn't important," the demon replied.

She stared at him, a bit incredulously—like she was going to do anything with location information with the King of Hell holding her family over her head. It took a moment before she realized that they were slowing down, and she glanced out of her window again in time to see a front gate open up to a stucco-style, beige colored manor. Daphne ducked her head a bit lower to catch a glimpse of the manor's high roof, which was covered with red tiles. The SUV came to a stop just inside a three-car garage, and the demon exited first, stepping back to open the door for Daphne. Something told her that that had nothing to do with manners and everything to do with making sure she didn't do anything crazy.

It was a long step for her rather short legs down to the too-clean cement flooring. When she glanced up, she was a little bit surprised to see Crowley, still dressed in a similar suit, waiting in the garage entranceway to the manor.

"Welcome home, Daphne," he said, extending a hand to aid her up the three, small stone steps.

Daphne wrapped her arms about herself, taking the first step on her own—to prove that she didn't need his proffered hand.

"That's not funny," she murmured.

Crowley grinned. "It wasn't supposed to be. Now, come along. I'll show you to your room."

He turned and entered the manor, leaving Daphne to follow silently behind. He led her up a hallway that was made of a lightly-stained hardwood, taking the first left down another hall. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his grin still in place.

"To be under my thumb for a year, darling, you should consider yourself quite lucky," he said as they took the second right down yet another corridor—this one covered in beige, red, and blue patterned rugs.

It was bait, but Daphne sighed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, most of my other _house guests_ are kept in rather… restrictive holdings. But you'll practically have free reign, my saintly princess."

Daphne pursed her lips, not wanting to think about the obvious meaning behind "restrictive holdings." She went back to her stance of silence as they finally arrived at a darkly stained door. Crowley gave the ornate, brass doorknob a twist and threw the door open in a flourish.

"Your humble abode," he said, stepping inside and sweeping his arms in a manner that indicated that Daphne follow after.

Her eyes widened. Humble was obviously defined incorrectly in Crowley's dictionary. The room was huge. Bigger than the living room and dining room combined in the home Daphne had left behind. Against the far wall was a lavish four-poster bed, its linen all done in white and gold—which truly stood out against the otherwise black lacquered wood of the framing. A door to the left of the bed led into a room that Daphne could not see from where she stood, and a large, oak bookshelf, covered in books, stood just off to her right. A small sofa covered some of the left-hand wall, and a low coffee table stood just before it. The walls were painted in a dark mauve, and the curtains on the high windows looked to be made of a heavy, heavy fabric that had every intention of blocking out every ounce of the bright sun outside.

"What do you think, my dear?" Crowley asked as Daphne advanced a bit farther, noticing now the tall dresser a foot or so from the sofa, and the large vanity beside the bookshelf.

"It's… beautiful," she said, defeated.

"I thought you might say that. You know, Daphne, it isn't all bad, this deal. I reward those who serve me well."

She whirled, her eyes narrowed.

"I'm only _serving_ you because you gave me no choice!" she squeaked out, halfway in between righteous anger and caution.

Crowley shrugged. "Servitude is servitude, kitten. Besides, this is rather a _Beauty and the Beast_ situation. Most women would enjoy that."

Daphne shook her head. "At least, in the movie, Belle had a way of seeing her father again."

"Ah," Crowley said, reaching into his jacket. "That reminds me. Here."

He pulled out what looked to be a small, brass coin and flipped it over to her. She caught it in both hands, and looked down to see that it was indeed a coin with strange markings she didn't recognize on it.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's a tracking coin. I planted some in your home. This way, once activated, you can check in on your loved ones. Call it a sign of my good faith."

But Daphne's heart was back to racing. If there were coins planted in her home… then what was to prevent Crowley from finding out that Elle was really her daughter? And… and that Castiel… But the panic must have clearly shown on her face because Crowley chuckled again.

"That's the only one attached to those, I swear. Be a good little saint, and it'll remain that way."

"So that's it..." Daphne sighed sadly, looking down at the coin. "I do every tiny little thing you ask… and I get to live an easy life here. And… if I don't…"

"If you _or_ your friends don't… well… I wouldn't want to be _them_, especially," Crowley said.

Daphne bit lightly at the inside of her lip. Putting her back to the demon, she made her way over to the dresser. Idly, just to give her body something else to do rather than the floating—or so it felt—that her legs were doing, she pulled open one of the drawers. Her eyes widened once more as she caught a glimpse of what was inside. She sat the coin atop the dresser and reached inside, yanking free a light blue cardigan. Whirling, she held it out, accusingly, at the King of Hell.

"This is _mine_!" she said.

Crowley scratched lightly at the thick stubble on his cheek, a look of pure confusion in his green eyes.

"Yes. I rather thought that was the point," he said. "I mean, you can't run around in only that one outfit for the entire year, now can you?"

But Daphne stalked toward him, still shoving the piece of clothing out like it was some kind of weapon or evidence of some heinous crime.

"How did you get it?" she demanded.

"I took it, sweetheart. Along with some other essentials of yours. Would you rather I put them back? Because providing your wardrobe isn't in the contract… but I'm rather a fine clothing fanatic, so it might be a relaxing venture for me to do so."

Daphne retracted the cardigan, hugging it tightly to her stomach. She shook her head, backing away a few steps.

"No, no. I just… you were in my room?"

Crowley laughed. "Is that what this is about? Oh, darling, my boys were all over your house after I snatched you… and we stayed that way until right before your darling sister and the kid woke up."

Daphne felt ill. Her lips were quivering, and her grip on the clothing in her hand tightened until she could feel her nails in her palm through the fabric. He was not only in her house… but… she didn't want to think of it. How easy it had been for him. Just a tidbit of information from Meg, and Crowley had been able to infiltrate her carefully hidden life in a snap. It was enough to make her want to crawl into the four-poster and lie there for days. But she had a feeling that that was not going to be an option for her.

"So…" she began, turning back to the dresser, tossing the cardigan inside, and shutting the drawer. "What is it that I'll be doing? I mean, what good can a _saint_ be to the King of _Hell_?"

"Oh, a wondrous multitude of things, my sweet princess. In fact, there's an entire list on that tablet I mentioned to you earlier. However, there is one, very particular thing that I have an urge to see accomplished."

Daphne crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed on Crowley. "And what's that?"

"Your blood. Specifically, your blood's key usage in throwing wide open the gates of Hell. Spilling all my demons onto this Earth to do… well, whatever it is that I would _want_ them to do."

All the color drained from Daphne's face. She shook her head.

"How… how is that possible? How can a _saint's_ blood be used to open Hell?"

Crowley sighed, a dejected look on his face as he shrugged. "Honestly, there is an easier way about this. Or, at least, there was. You see, there used to be this tablet labeled 'demons,' but my nice little prophet went and made sure that it was unreadable to himself or any other prophet of the future. Quite disappointing. But, I am nothing if not enterprising. I found another way to crack open my Hellgates. But it's a bit of a process… and as it turns out, a saint's blood is needed at each turn. Which is where finding out about little ol' you comes into play."

Daphne was biting the inside of her lip again, taking a single, slow step toward Crowley.

"Remember our deal," she said quietly. "Remember. Me and my loved ones can't be harmed."

"So long as they, or you, do me no harm. Trust me, Daphne. I make a deal. I keep it," Crowley said. Smiling, he added, "But, until I decide to put you to work on opening my Hellgates, I'll have an assortment of fun little tasks for you to do. After all, if you don't use it, you lose it."

He put his back to her, heading for the door, when Daphne called him to a stop.

"What do you mean, 'fun little tasks'? And what's the first step? What do I have to do to open a Hellgate?"

"Like I said, there are several steps. Each one requires some of your precious blood. The first, if I remember correctly, involves a demon feeding from your blood during a special ritual."

Daphne fell back a few steps, and she just knew that the color was never coming back to her features now. Her breath was coming in quick, panicked puffs, and Crowley grinned at her. Her body quaked, and terrified didn't seem like a strong enough word. A demon had to feed from her? And that was the _first_ step? She suddenly found herself backed up against the foot of the bed, her fingers clawing and twisting into the bedspread.

"As for the fun little task… one's coming due in about… oh, an hour or so. That gives you just long enough to freshen up, I believe," Crowley explained.

"What kind of task?" Daphne managed to ask.

"Oh, my favorite. A deal."

With that, Crowley left, and Daphne pursed her lips. He was going to bring her along on a demon deal? Her stomach knotted as her eyes finally trailed to the attached bathroom to her right. An hour to freshen up… which meant that Crowley probably expected her not to be wearing her scrubs when he came back for her. Shaking her head and sighing, she reluctantly dug through the dresser drawers and withdrew a new outfit. She locked herself inside the large, white-and-black bathroom, pausing to gaze at her pallid complexion in the mirror.

"What have I gotten myself into?" she moaned.

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End Notes: A transitionary chapter, I'm afraid, but one that sort of sets the tone for Daphne's working life with Crowley. Can't wait to hear what you think of it, so drop me a line! Be kind, feed your authors, and click that nifty little review button!


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings:** Hints of torture, sexual situations, light torture depicted… more might be added later depending on how dark I want to take this. Rating may rise in later chapters.

**Full Summary: **AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint… and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and to demons. Saints can hear the angels speak, their blood can be used for many things, and they have a sight for things that normal humans do not. And, more importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley—one year of usage of her saintly powers with no arguments, and no interferences.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. They belong to Kripke. No money made here.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for the great reviews! More! LOL. Here's the next chapter! Also, Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands has done some art for this. You'll be able to see it as I post this at Livejournal as well at (remove spaces) patriciatepes. Livejournal. Com. Also, since Season 8 has ended, I'd just like to note… SPN keeps backing up my fandom brain. Some of the concepts that will appear in this story will seem very similar to the concepts that appears in the latter episodes of the season… this was accidental, but made this fangirl very happy.

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**Chapter Three**

It was now well past noon back at the home that Daphne had left behind. Castiel had, so far, kept himself true to his word, sitting in quiet contemplation in the living room of the two story home. Daphne's sister, Laura, was off in the other room with her niece, trying her best to comfort the upset child. Meanwhile, Castiel had called on the only two people he could think to in a situation such as this. His one true pair of friends, Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam leaned back in the recliner he had been perched on the edge of while the angel had explained why he—and in turn, the two of them—had been summoned to Daphne Allen's home that day. At the end of said explanation, he blew out a gust of air, shaking his shaggy, brown hair.

"I just… I… wow," the younger Winchester said while his brother jerked a thumb in his direction.

"What he said," Dean murmured.

There would have been a moment of silence that followed, had it just been the three of them in the living room. However, there was another listener to Castiel's explanation. The recently returned Meg, who apparently sought a kind of refuge with the angel against Crowley and his demon minions.

"So, Clarence finally lost the Big V and ended up with a child to show for it," she smirked. "Turns out she's not the cheating whore we thought she was, right?"

For that, Castiel glared at the demon woman. "Why are you even here? It is because of you that Daphne is in this predicament."

Meg threw up both her hands, clearly backing down. "Hey, I'll not argue that. But Dean-o can back me up on this one: no matter how _good_ you are, Hell has its ways."

"I guess we can just be grateful that Crowley doesn't know that Elle is Castiel's," Sam muttered, shooing a glare of his own up at Meg.

"Waving the white flag here, boys," the demon scoffed. "Besides, Crowley doesn't even know that Elle is _Daphne's_, remember? Little sis over there said that Daphne had claimed that Elle was her niece, not her daughter. And I'm proud to say that I _did_ neglect to mention that Daphne was about to bust with child when I saw her, thank you very much."

"Leave, Meg," Castiel said, resting his head in his hands.

"Nope. I need protection, and I'm wagering that an extra pair of eyes on the brat—I mean, the kid—wouldn't hurt. So, I'm offering just that. I'll help protect the kid and the aunt, and the three of you include me in this little deal that Daphne's made where those who care for her family can't be harmed by Crowley."

Dean growled softly. "We can't trust you."

"I'm wounded. After all, who risked her ass helping you get in to gank the Leviathans? And did I get a rescue from Hell? Not one bit. But hey, I'm willing to forgive and forget… and even offer a helping hand."

"She's right," Castiel said, looking up with an odd light in his eyes. "It's only for a year. But I… I need help. In keeping Elle… in keeping my daughter safe. And not just from Crowley. Her identity must be kept a secret just as Daphne had been doing."

"I don't get it," Sam said, standing. "Why not tell you, at least?"

Meg scoffed. "The last time Daphne saw him he was Crazy Cas going on and on about bees. I would've lied too."

"She feared what Heaven would do… that they would take Elle. I have no doubt about that," Castiel said, standing now as well. "Will you help me? Will the... _three_ of you help me keep Elle safe?"

Dean nodded. "Of course we will. But… and this might be an odd question, but… does Elle even know? I mean, the poor kid is suddenly stuck in a house without her mom, and randomly four strangers show up to stay? Does Elle know that you're her dad?"

Castiel shrugged, a distant fear in his eyes. "I haven't even thought to ask."

"Has this… ever happened before? An angel fathering a child?" Sam asked.

The angel in the room shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. Before this moment, I would've thought the notion ridiculous."

Meg shrugged. "Well, it makes sense to me. I mean, you're in a borrowed body just like I am. Doesn't mean the parts don't still work."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "But, in that case, Elle would be Jimmy's daughter."

Castiel shook his head. "No. In the brief moment I was in the room with Elle, before she ran into the other room, I felt it. The child does have the celestial in her veins."

"Score one for the mysterious universe," Meg said, sighing. "Well, I'm in for helping."

"But you cannot go after Crowley at all, Meg. Those were the terms of the deal. For this entire year, none of us can make a move against him… for fear of what will happen to Elle, Laura, or Daphne," Castiel explained.

Meg grinned, the look obviously forced. "What a nice vacation that'll be."

From the distance, the sound of crying reached the groups' ears. Both Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before looking over at Castiel.

"Cas… maybe you ought to go talk to her," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Let her know that everything's all right. She's probably scared to death."

"Let her know that you're her dad, and that her mom isn't gone forever," Dean added.

At that, an odd look passed over Castiel's face. As if he had just remembered something, but in the next instance, the look was gone. He shifted his gaze beyond Sam, Dean, and Meg to stare at the staircase that would lead up to Elle's room.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked. "What's with the weird face?"

But Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. I should go speak with Elle."

He walked past the three of them, pausing when he reached only a few paces on the other side of their barrier. Turning, he shrugged.

"I don't know what to say," he confessed.

At that, Meg rolled her eyes. She stepped forward, grabbing him by his arm.

"Let's go… I'll help you wing it," she said.

Castiel gave her a bewildered stare as she led him up the stairs and out of sight. And the moment they were gone, Sam gave his brother a nudge.

"Did you see that, Dean? That look?" he asked.

But Dean shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

The taller Winchester sighed, shaking his head as he retook his seat on the beige recliner. Dean, meanwhile, moved to sit on the matching sofa.

"Do you remember when Cas was working with Crowley, trying to crack open Purgatory? Do you remember how strange he acted, and we just didn't notice it?"

Dean shrugged, straightening the green over-shirt he wore. "Yeah, and? Make your point, Sammy."

Sam ran a hand through is hair, as if carefully considering his thoughts. Finally, he leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his forearms on his legs.

"Doesn't he seem to be acting a little strange now? I mean, I think I've seen that look on his face before… when he was lying to us about Purgatory."

Now Dean was leaning forward, and both Winchesters' voices were dropping to conspiring whispers.

"You mean… you think Cas is up to something? No way. Not this time… not after what happened with the Purgatory fiasco."

But Sam shook his head. "Dean, something's up. I mean… Cas seems a little too ready and willing to listen to the terms of this agreement. To just lay back and stay here with Elle rather than trying to save Daphne. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, honestly, I think the dude's just freaking out because he just recently discovered he's a dad. I mean, think about it, Sam, if you had gone your entire life thinking that it was impossible for you to have kids and then suddenly, _bam_, two-year-old."

Sam pursed his lips at his brother, giving him the perfect-bitchface. Dean rolled his eyes. He lifted his hands, much as Meg had earlier.

"But I'll give. It is weird that he doesn't seem to be willing to go after Crowley to save Daphne. Maybe Naomi's screwing with him again."

Both boys went silent, mentally replaying how that scenario had gone. It had taken some doing, but with a little help from every hunter trick they could come up with—and then some—they had managed to free Castiel of Naomi's hold. What the Bitch Angel had wanted from Cas was still a mystery to everyone, up to and including Castiel himself… but he was free and clear of Naomi now, and that's all that mattered. After another moment of silence, Dean shrugged again.

"Then again, it could just be that Daphne's the one that made the deal. I mean, think about it. Every time we've tried to weasel out of a demon deal… it's still come due. Maybe there's just no way, angel or not, to get out of them," the elder Winchester argued.

"Maybe," Sam conceded… but only a little. "But I think something's still going on."

Dean stood, motioning toward the staircase. "Meanwhile, are you aware that we've let an angel and a demon go talk to a two-year-old?"

Sam stood, a half smile on his face. "Yeah… we might wanna get up there."


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings:** Hints of torture, sexual situations, light torture depicted… more might be added later depending on how dark I want to take this. Rating may rise in later chapters.

**Full Summary: **AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint… and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and to demons. Saints can hear the angels speak, their blood can be used for many things, and they have a sight for things that normal humans do not. And, more importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley—one year of usage of her saintly powers with no arguments, and no interferences.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. They belong to Kripke. No money made here.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for the great reviews! More! LOL. Here's the next chapter! Also, Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands has done some art for this. You'll be able to see it as I post this at Livejournal as well at (remove spaces) patriciatepes. Livejournal. Com. Sorry for the long wait in the update. If you'd like the reason, let's just say that I'm a new—and first-time—mom! Also, some other, physical related reasons. For the full scoop, see my profile here—scroll to the last update at the bottom.

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**Chapter Four**

It had taken Daphne considerably less than an hour to get ready. Since she really didn't feature that a demon deal was too much of a formal affair, she had simply chosen a pair a jeans, and a nice purple, three-quarter length sleeve blouse. The blouse itself was rather plain, and in the few moments she had known Crowley, she was sure that this would be a point of inquiry. But she didn't care. She had found where Crowley had also transported her basic make-up and hair care supplies. She had put on a fresh layer of powder base, and had run her fingers through her semi-curly hair in lieu of brushing.

Past that, Daphne had exited the bathroom to find that she still had a good forty-five minutes before Crowley would be back to collect her. She walked to the very center of the room and paused, wrapping her arms about herself. Her eyes trailed over the various objects she had noted before—the dresser, vanity, bookshelf, and so on—and sighed. She really did feel like Belle in _Beauty and the Beast_… she suddenly found herself wondering if there was some large library somewhere within the manor. She laughed, no real humor behind the move, as her eyes fell back to the dresser. She cocked her head to the side, moving slowly toward the piece of furniture. It was a good deal taller than most dressers Daphne had ever dealt with, with the very top of it lining up with the very top of her own head. She reached her hand up, feeling and finding what she searched for.

The coin that Crowley had given her, to listen in on her family and make sure that they were all right, was smaller than she had originally thought. She turned the brass object over in her hand, rubbing her thumb across the raised head and writing that appeared on both sides. She held it in the palm of her hand as she gazed down at it. Her heart was filled with the longing to hear her daughter's voice… and suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. She had promised Elle that she would be right back… and yet, she had never made it back inside the house. Daphne's breath quickened as she enclosed the coin tightly in her fist, her eyes shutting just as tightly. She had to hear her. She had to make sure that Elle was all right… that Castiel had kept his promise.

But no matter how much she silently willed it, she heard nothing but the deafening silence of her room. Growling softly, she opened her fist, and shook the coin once, angrily.

"How do you work?" she muttered at it.

No sooner had the words left her lips, the all too familiar voices of Elle, her sister, and Castiel filled her ears. And Elle was clearly upset, even by sound alone. Daphne would know the sound of her daughter's sad sniffles anywhere.

"_The time will… pass quickly, I'm sure,_" Castiel was saying.

"_I want Momma,_" Elle said, near to the point of demanding.

"_Mommy's… Mommy's gotta work… for a long time,_" Laura attempted to explain in the best way she could make a two and a half year old understand what a demon deal was. "_But when she's done, she'll come straight home. Until then… until then, Daddy's here with you._"

That did little to comfort the child, sending her spiraling into a fit of tears. Daphne's heart broke. She should've gone back inside… if even for a moment. Or would that have been wrong? She mulled this over for a moment, listening on as Castiel made another attempt at comforting the girl. Finally, however, two new voices entered the room. Daphne, oddly, recognized Dean… it wasn't often that one forgot the voice of the man who was last seen with your missing husband. But the other voice was one that she had never heard before, not as deep as Dean's… but there were tones there that the two shared. Could this be the mysterious second Winchester, the one that Daphne had yet to meet?

"_Elle,_" Castiel began, "_this is—_"

But he was cut off by Dean.

"_Uncle Dean… and this is Uncle Sam. We're going to hang out here with you and Daddy, okay?_"

Elle was whimpering, but Daphne could almost imagine her sweet girl's nod. Finally, with a sigh, Laura spoke up.

"_I'm going to go fix her something to eat, all right?_" the younger Allen woman practically snapped.

Daphne sighed, putting her free hand—the one not holding the coin—to her forehead. These men were risking life and limb to make sure that Laura and Elle remained safe… the least her sister could do was be polite. The room was silent as the sound of two pairs of footsteps departed. Daphne frowned, wishing that she knew how to access the rest of the coins that Crowley had hinted at. She wished to hear more of Elle's voice, even if she couldn't see her. But the coin she listened in on was still the one in the room with Dean, Sam, and Castiel.

"_Okay, I'm going to be up front about this,_" Dean said after a moment. "_Why the hell aren't we trying to come up with a way to rescue Daphne, Cas?_"

Suddenly, Daphne wished she wasn't still standing in front of the dresser. She longed for a seat to collapse into. They couldn't. They couldn't come after her. That would be in breach of the deal! Elle and Laura would be in immediate and terrible danger. Daphne shook her head at the coin.

"No, no, no, Castiel… Please," she pleaded with the metal object.

"_We cannot,_" Castiel said simply

Daphne sighed, but apparently the Winchesters were not ones to let sleeping dogs lie.

"_Why not?_" Sam asked.

"_Because there is nothing we can do, even should we go after her. Daphne made a deal, and she is bound by that deal. It is an old law, but one that stands,_" Castiel explained.

"_But it's not a_ real _deal,_" Dean argued. "_I mean, you said that she didn't sell her soul or anything._"

Now the angel was sounding exasperated by his friends. And frankly, Daphne was feeling a little annoyed with them as well. The way Dean made it sound, if her soul wasn't involved, then it wasn't… as important or something. She fumed at this for a moment or two before she finally shook it from her brain. Of all the things she should have on her mind _that_ was not one of them.

"_It doesn't matter,_" Castiel sighed. "_The deal she made is bound by the same rules. We just can't go after her. Besides, doing so would leave Laura and Elle in terrible danger._"

"_But we could find a way around that,_" Sam argued. "_What about Garth?_"

"_Garth is still not safe. Or do you not remember when Crowley took Kevin? Garth nearly perished, and Crowley has still got the Prophet._"

Daphne's lips pursed. Crowley had a prophet _and_ a saint? Something about that made her stomach roll in a very bad way. Her eyes glued on the coin, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a knock came on _her_ bedroom door. She yelped, pulling open the first drawer her hand touched—the second from the top—and tossing the coin inside. Instantly, she could no longer hear the sounds from her home. She turned toward the door, clearing her throat.

"Come in," she said.

But Crowley was already entering the room. Daphne sighed, wrapping her arms back about her shoulders. The King of Hell came to a stop, his brow raised.

"That's what you're wearing?" he asked scathingly.

Daphne almost wanted to laugh. However, the sound of her daughter's tears were still too fresh on her mind, and she only nodded.

"Yes. Are we leaving now?" she asked.

Smiling back at her, he closed the small distance between the two of them, his arms open as if in a grand gesture of welcoming. He finally placed his hands on either of her shoulders, and Daphne winced, wondering whether the smarter move would be getting out of the grip, or staying in it. In the end, she simply leaned back a little as Crowley continued to grin at her.

"I'm so excited about this deal, my dear. You see, we're going at this like we've been shot out of a cannon. I'm testing the waters of our relationship immediately… no shallow wading for us."

Daphne really didn't like the sound of that. Her eyes narrowed, she finally took a single step out of his gentle hold on her, shaking her head.

"I don't understand. I thought you needed me to open the gates of Hell… not sealing deals. Why waste your time?"

Crowley grinned. "A fair question, I suppose. But as I explained earlier, you haven't exactly been using your saintly powers. Plus, I like to multitask… cover all my bases, as it were. If I can use you to open the gates of Hell _and_ seal a few deals to get a few extra souls for the Pit… then great. Now, come along. We really don't want to be late."

With that, he snapped his fingers, and Daphne gasped to find herself in an altogether different location. They were off to the side of a dirt and gravel crossroads, the ditches of which were absolutely covered in various weeds and wild flowers. They stood in the shadows cast by a nearby, yellow street lamp—which fascinated Daphne in and of itself that a publicly installed street lamp would be so far out here in what was clearly the middle of nowhere.

"I don't—" Daphne began, but Crowley put a finger to her lips, silencing her.

He then removed it to point at the center, where the roads met. A young woman—no older than her mid-twenties, easily—was busy shoving dirt over into a small hole. She patted it down once, packing it, as she stood, brushing off the worn denim jeans she wore, her eyes scanning the night around her.

"Showtime," Crowley laughed, and in a blink he and Daphne went from the shadows to standing just in front of the woman, who jumped at their arrival.

"Hello, Felicity, dear," Crowley said, addressing the dark-haired woman like the two were old friends.

"I want to make a deal," Felicity said, utterly ignoring the pleasantries.

This seemed to annoy Crowley a little, and Daphne had to bite down a small grin at that. For a demon who had, undoubtedly, done his stint in Hell, he certainly had a very ordered way he liked things to go in. Much fussier than Daphne would have ever expected a demon to be.

"I see. So you've reconsidered. Well, it remains the same, darling… you get what you want, and in ten years, you come to me," Crowley explained in a semi-bored voice.

Felicity nodded. "I understand. Look, I just want my husband to get better. I mean, the doctors… they're telling me that he's got days left. Just _days_. Ten years would be… would be a miracle."

Crowley's smile twitched at that, and Daphne was sure that she knew why. Surely nothing a demon could produce would ever be considered a "miracle." But the King of Hell nodded knowingly.

"Easily fixed, dear. All it takes is sealing the deal," he said.

Felicity nodded, but stopped a little short. She pointed a thin finger at Daphne, her eyes still on the demon.

"I don't understand why she's here," she said.

"You'll understand soon enough. Have we got a deal? Your husband's life… for your soul?" Crowley asked.

Daphne pursed her lips. She really couldn't fault this woman. It didn't take much thinking of what Daphne would be willing to do if Elle or Laura ever got sick. Then again, she had sold not her soul, but just a year of her time to the King of Hell in exchange for her family's safety. Did that mean that her love had a limit? She liked to think not… after all, where would Elle be in ten years without her mother? No, the year was still a sacrifice, but a practical one. After all, this poor woman's husband was going to come home in ten years to find his wife dead and gone for seemingly no reason.

However, Felicity nodded, taking a single step forward with closed eyes. Crowley reached out with his right hand, entangling his fingers in the woman's long, too-straight hair as he gently tugged her forward until their lips pressed against one another. Daphne grimaced as the kiss seemed to go on forever. Finally, however, Crowley let go, and Felicity all but jumped back from the demon.

"Now," Crowley said, "as to the reason my friend is here with me. To heal your husband, you'll need to feed him a rather special treat."

Daphne's gaze fell to Crowley as he reached out, grasping her right hand and tugging it until her arm extended straight out from her body. From within the folds of his jacket with his freer hand he withdrew the smallest glass vial Daphne had ever seen, standing no more than two inches tall.

"What are you doing?" Daphne growled.

Felicity watched on with wide eyes as Crowley pressed his thumb into Daphne's wrist. She hissed with the pain as her skin broke and a dark trail of blood dripped down into the waiting vial. Crowley let it go for a few moments until the container was nearly full. Then, he let her hand go, and Daphne immediately sacrificed a corner of her shirt to wrap the wound up in as Crowley corked the vial. He held it out to Felicity.

"Make your husband drink this. You can mix it in a coffee or give it to him straight, doesn't matter. But it _will_ heal him."

The woman's eyes lit up as she snatched up the vial. She thanked him profusely as she ran off to where her car was parked a little ways up the road behind her.

"See you in ten years, Felicity," Crowley called after her.

Daphne waited until she heard the car start and drive away before turning back to the demon. Her eyes ablaze, she took a menacing step forward.

"What the hell?" she cried out, since no one was close enough to hear her. "What gives you the right to just take my blood?"

"Our deal, remember? No arguments," Crowley chuckled.

"But, but… for a _deal_? That doesn't make any sense! I mean, you're the king of Hell! Why are you even responding to these deals?" she ranted.

Crowley shrugged. "Because it's fun, honestly… and a lot less stressful than running Hell. It makes me remember a simpler time in my life. Now, come along, dear. Time to go home. I'm sure you're quite tired from your long night of work… and the events of the day. Got to keep my saint fresh and prepped."

Daphne sighed, not bothering to hide her disgust. But the demon only laughed and snapped his fingers, dropping her off in her room alone. She shook her head and headed for the bathroom, intent to treat her wound.

This deal was looking more and more like a worse situation than she could have ever guessed.


End file.
